2 JAVA
1,215 Kilometres – 44 Days
20 March 2010 - 3 June 2010
20
March – Kalianda, Sumatra – Cilegong, Java – 46 km
The
ferry between Sumatra and the Island of Java came in true Indonesian style,
complete with karaoke singers, instant noodles and the ever-present, deep-fried
tofu sellers. The fact that staff were frantically working on one of the
engines during the entire trip - bits of engine parts scattered all over the deck
and smoke billowing from down below – didn’t seem to bother anyone. Sea traffic
was no less hectic than the regular traffic, with ships passing dangerously
close in front of us.
Once
off the ship at Merak at Java Island, Ernest and I resumed our ride
straightaway, heading in Jakarta’s direction. Barely 15 kilometres of cycling through
congested traffic brought us to the town of Cilegong. Cilegong sported an
establishment with rooms outside under shady trees, making the accommodation perfect,
especially for cyclists.
21
March – Cilegong – Tangerang – 91 km
If
Sumatra was considered a long, drawn-out village, then Java was a long,
drawn-out city. The route never left the built-up area or cleared the hectic
traffic. While congested, one got the impression drivers were acutely aware of slow-moving
vehicles and cyclists.
Passing
a chap who converted a bicycle into a sewing machine workshop didn’t merely
make an excellent photo opportunity, but I was impressed with his resourcefulness.
He went door to door doing repair work; as the saying goes - “If the mountain does
not come to Muhammad, then Mohammad must go to the mountain.”
It
rained on and off all day and, by our third soaking, considered it time to find
an abode and dry out. Even though Tangerang was a large town, locating lodging was
challenging, with many hotels seemingly full. Maybe they didn’t want two
scruffy-looking and sopping wet cyclists dripping rainwater all over their
neatly polished tiles.
22
March - Tangerang – Jakarta – 31 km
From
Tangerang, a mere 30-kilometre cycle proceeded into Jakarta. Aided by a tailwind,
we were blown right into the city centre amidst whirling dust clouds, cardboard
boxes and plastic bags. The traffic was hectic and it took weaving through thousands
of motorbikes and taxis to find Freedom Square. From the square, a short cycle
took us to the backpacker enclave of Jalan Jaksa and Borneo Hostel, comfortable
enough at the price. Ernest seemed hyperactive and washed the bicycles as well
as his gear.
23-24
March – Jakarta
I
donned a hat and shades and, in complete tourist disguise, set off to discover
what remained of the old Dutch city of Batavia dating to the 17th century. Upon
closer inspection, no more than an old town square with one or two
well-preserved colonial buildings remained. Nevertheless, the former Dutch port
still operated with beautiful wooden fishing vessels but in polluted water.
Cargo was loaded in a slightly old-fashioned style along rickety gangplanks.
Around
the corner from the old port was the fish market. At the best of times, a fish
market is smelly. Still, with dirty water gushing from open sewers, people
doing their daily ablutions in full view in the nearby canal, cats and rats
having the run of the mill and homeless people squatting seemingly everywhere,
this one was smellier than your usual fish market. Outside the fish market was the
old lookout tower, which resembled the Leaning Tower of Pisa.
Further
exploring was done by train as at Rp1000, the ticket was virtually free, but the
return ticket was Rp1500. The pricing made no sense - same train, same route
but different price. Subsequent experiences suggested the fare was to the end
of the line and thus further on the return journey.
25-28
March – Jakarta
Scores
of Islamic students staged a protest outside Jakarta’s parliament against US
President Barack Obama’s upcoming visit to the country. Instead of being caught
in the riot, it made sense to head in the opposite direction. The positive side
was the city streets were dead quiet, and one could wander around at leisure.
To
the south of Jalan Jaksa was Jakarta’s modern city, complete with
bumper-to-bumper traffic, modern shopping centres, high-rise buildings, and the
like. Luckily, the area was relatively easy to get around, whether by bus,
train, tuk-tuk or minivan.
For
his own reasons, Ernest was reluctant to move along, and, following a week, I couldn’t
believe we were still in Jakarta.
29-30
March - Jakarta – Bogor – 57 km
The
entire way between Jakarta and Bogor was congested. Bogor, called the City of Rain,
was world-renowned for its historic botanical gardens. So I thought it sacrilege
to cycle past without exploring the park. Puri Bali Homestay provided a comfortable
overnight spot close to the park, with lovely old and spacious rooms. The next
day was spent investigating the gardens - and what an impressive haven. Known
as the “Kebun Raya”, the park had more than 12,300 plant specimens including
400 types of palms. A delightful day out.
31
March - Bogor – Cibodas - 41 km
The
best part of the day was spent climbing the Puncak Pass’s volcanic slopes. This
ride offered stunning vistas of the surrounding mountains and tea plantations. Unfortunately,
the weather came and with Ernest still suffering from bronchitis I considered
it best to find accommodation.
Disaster
struck when running down a wet concrete ramp to inspect our overnight spot. Upon
slipping, I immediately knew something was seriously wrong as I started shaking
uncontrollably. Ernest was irritated by the accident as this wasn’t part of his
plan. Nevertheless, he reluctantly came with (long face and all by taxi) searching
for medical assistance. I thought his behaviour rude and inconsiderate as the
whole fiasco resulted from trying to accommodate him. X-rays revealed a
dislocated shoulder and two fractures. Still, the hospital wasn’t equipped for
further treatment and recommended a specialist in Cianjur, about 20 kilometres away.
However, the doctor was out of town, and an appointment was made for the
following afternoon.
An
uncomfortable night was spent in the “disaster zone”, sucking on painkillers
and unable to use my arm. Ernest was of little help as he was peed off as the
accident had inconvenienced him by interrupting his journey. He was, nevertheless,
free to proceed and was under no obligation to hang about.
1
April - Cibodas – Cianjur - By minivan
With
the arm strapped by an old T-shirt, I searched for a van to take me, the bike
and the bags to the larger town of Cianjur. Unfortunately, the doctor in
Cianjur couldn’t help either, and as biking was out of the question, all one
could do was take more painkillers and go to bed.
My
bank card got stuck in the ATM as if my problems weren’t enough. Mercifully, this
happened outside a still open bank, and following a big rigmarole, the card was
retrieved. Unfortunately, this was clearly not my week; if bursting into tears
could’ve solved my problems, I would’ve.
2
April - Cianjur – Bandung - By minivan
Ernest
continued by bicycle while I arranged to get myself to Bandung. Organising things
was somewhat of a mission when unable to speak the language. Upon enquiring
about a minivan to Bandung, hotel staff assumed I wanted to exchange money. In
the end, I found flagging down a taxi myself, easier.
Upon
reaching Bandung, the arm had swollen to roughly double its standard size and
felt as if on fire. One more hospital visit revealed little they could do but
put the arm in a sling and give more painkillers and anti-inflammatory medication.
I wasn’t interested in the operation they recommended.
3
April – Bandung
As
cycling was out of the question, I believed it best to leave my belongings at
the hotel and return to South Africa while waiting for the arm to mend.
Fortunately, a travel agent was directly adjacent to the hotel, and I was South
Africa bound in no time at all. Ernest wanted to come with me, and I bought him
a ticket, albeit on credit, as I didn’t have the money. He was, immensely miserable,
and I was sorry I spent such a large amount of money on someone so
unappreciative.
4
April - Bandung – Jakarta - By bus
Getting
to Jakarta airport from Bandung involved a chartered minivan from the hotel to the
bus station and then a three-hour bus ride to the airport. All this while in
constant pain and with a splitting headache (something I rarely suffer from).
Add an eight-hour wait for our flight, which only took off at half-past
midnight. It became a miserable day in unpleasant company. To crown it all, I
puked two airsick bags full before the plane even took off and the phrase “things
not going to plan”, sprang to mind.
5
April - Jakarta – Cape Town, South Africa - By plane
What
a long, trip, hours and hours in the air – via Dubai. Eventually, our flight touched
down in Cape Town. Just as many hours were spent chatting with my sisters while
drinking numerous glasses of wine. I was relieved to get off the darn aircraft
and be snug in a real home, eating my favourite dish (macaroni cheese) of which
a large bowl awaited at my sister Karin’s house.
6
April – 11 May - Cape Town
Party
upon party, pizzas galore, and following many good bottles of wine, the time came
to head back to Indonesia and continue where we’d left off. I enjoyed seeing friends
and family. However, five weeks weren’t enough to catch up with everyone, even
after extending the departure date by a week.
12
May - South Africa - Indonesia - By plane
Following
a 9-hour flight to Dubai, a 5-hour stopover, a further eight hours to Jakarta,
plus a 3-hour bus trip, we finally arrived back at the hotel in Bandung at 3 a.m.
I was happy to find the bags still precisely as we’d left them, albeit a tad
dusty.
13
May – Bandung
Jetlag
and time-zone differences took their toll, and after a long and deep sleep, I
still felt tired but had to start organising equipment. Sadly, my bicycle’s new
front rack, bought in South Africa, didn’t quite fit, and the gears didn’t want
to play along.
14
May - Bandung – Cicalengka – 46 km
We
thus first went past the bike shop to have the gears sorted. Ernest got a new
front derailleur, and, once all was fitted, the time was 12h30.
The
road out of Bandung veered southeast along a terribly busy route, complete with
traffic jams, buses, trucks, motorbikes and scooters. Not even on a bicycle,
could one get through.
So
heavy was the traffic by 4.30 p.m., we’d covered a mere 46 kilometres. Dark clouds
loomed ahead, and with big raindrops falling, we pulled into a roadside settlement
(in Java the whole roadside was a village) and inquired regarding accommodation.
The place was windowless, had a solid mould cover upon the walls and ceiling. A
pile of cigarette butts was swept into a corner. The rooms were, clearly, let
by the hour as a constant stream of visitors was coming and going. Judging by
the sound effects from the other rooms, all had a pretty good time. With rain
pelting down upon the tin roof, we cooked our noodles and drank a Bintang or
two.
15-16
May - Cicalengka – Tasik Malaya – 73 km
I
was happy to be out of our cell and en route to our next destination. Things
went well until the path started climbing over the mountains, and I could tell
I hadn’t cycled in a while. In the afternoon, the usual rainstorm arrived,
driving us to seek shelter at a petrol station. Finally, an hour later, the
worst of the rain was over, and we set out anew.
In
poor visibility and a slight drizzle, we made our way along a path resembling a
river. The poor visibility, narrow road with flooded potholes, and hectic
traffic made a dangerous situation. Thank goodness, about 10 kilometres before
Tasik Malaya (or Tasikmalaya), Ernest spotted a hotel and we pulled in.
17
May - Tasik Malaya – Tasik city - 16 km
A
short distance led to the city centre where I drew money and then decided to
stay the night. Good thing too, as we needed to do laundry - I’ve been wearing virtually
the same clothes since departing Cape Town five days ago. Tasik was known for woven
mats, painted umbrellas and batik and, therefore, a lovely area to saunter
about.
18
May - Tasik Malaya – Cipatujah – 78 km
It
felt like I was returning to my stride and felt more at home on the bike than
the previous two days. The way south to the seaside village of Cipatuja was,
fortunately, along a far smaller and quieter path.
Albeit
a hilly route, the scenery was sublime. The way led past small communities,
rice paddies and densely forested areas. Once again, rain made seeking cover,
but it wasn’t much more than a drizzle which made enjoyable riding.
Cipatujah
offered budget lodging close to the beach. Soon after unloading the bikes, the
landlady presented us with a bunch of bananas and two massive plates of fried
rice accompanied by the usual omelette, prawn crackers and slices of cucumber. Not
much later, a group of travelling salesmen on motorbikes arrived. Staying in an
establishment favoured by motorbike salesmen, usually indicated one found the best
budget digs in town.
While
relaxing, the earth started to rumble and shake. Clothes swung from hangers,
the standing fan teetered back and forth, and the water in the bathroom mandi
(tank) sloshed around. Even the floor tiles were moving back and forth. Ernest
and I looked at each other, wide-eyed, and quickly donned our shoes, in case we’d
to run from our not-so-solid-looking abode or a tsunami.
Minutes
later, a gang of policemen arrived, apparently to check our visas. They were
obviously curious and wanted to chat. Still, the language barrier was a problem,
and the visit was short.
19
May - Cipatujah – Batu Karas – 76 km
Leaving
our fragile-looking digs, we headed to Pangandaran, the next biggish town on the
map. Our path consisted of mostly minor coastal routes that ran past fishing hamlets
and more rice paddies. At times bicycle touring can be a great deal of fun, and
this was one of those days.
A
short detour brought us to the idyllic fishing settlement of Batu Karas. Batu
Karas was a lovely and popular village sporting a great beach and good surf. It,
consequently, had a good range of accommodation, from fancy hotels to basic
“surfer dorms”.
20-23
May - Batu Karas – Pangandaran – 34 km
A
short ride led into Pangandaran, the top beach resort on Java island. The town
sported a lovely beach, hundreds of inexpensive hotels, a peninsula with a nature
reserve and hardly any tourists. An additional day was spent in Pangandaran. While
Ernest fiddled with bicycle equipment, I spent time at the beach, swimming in
the lukewarm water of the Indian Ocean.
After
supper, I started feeling nauseous and was sick as a dog all night. Albeit a
million times better in the morning, I felt weak and stayed two more days. The
first day was spent sleeping; by the second day, I found a bookshop and spent
the rest of the day reading The Shining Mountain by Peter Boardman. I love reading
mountaineering books and find our justification for what we’re doing scarily
similar.
24
May - Pangandaran – Cilacap – 90 km
During
the night, a storm came in and, in the morning, rain was still bucketing down. When
I say it rained, I mean a Biblical type of rain, “build a big boat and gather
two of a kind” kind of rain.
By
midday, the weather cleared, and we returned to the rough potholed road, which
meant fewer vehicles. Being a minor route, it led over the hills, past rice
paddies and coconut groves, through small settlements, and onto the large port
city of Cilacap.
25
May - Cilacap – Kebumen – 90 km
The
landlady woke us at 6h30 with a breakfast tray consisting of a chicken thigh
(claw still attached), sticky rice, and sambals.
The
early wake-up call meant an 8h00 start, a record for Ernest. During the day, the
path led back to the Main Road, and, in Java, “Main Road” meant crammed with
buses, trucks and scooters. We had to remind ourselves that 130 million people lived
on tiny Java, measuring 132,000 square kilometres, making it the most populated
island globally. Moreover, the roads were narrow and often in poor condition,
not factors that made relaxed cycling.
Kebumen,
a large town almost halfway between Cilacap and Yogyakarta, was our next stop,
where we’d no trouble finding a guesthouse. In the more conservative Indonesian
cities, finding a beer to relax during the evening, was extremely difficult –
and this town was one of them.
26
May - Kebumen – Borobudur – 87 km
We
woke to a slightly overcast day, which turned into a steady drizzle- not a problem
as cycling in the rain can be pretty enjoyable.
Approaching
Borobudur, the route became hillier as it crossed over the flanks of two
volcanoes. Jeepers, those hills were steep, but we huffed and puffed and gasped
our way to the top. From the turn-off to Borobudur, a nice downhill run took us
into this immensely touristy settlement. The plan was to explore the famous
Buddhist temple the following day. Unfortunately, searching for an abode was
done in pouring rain, and accommodation was hard to find due to the annual
Buddhist Waisak Festival.
Borobudur
is the largest Buddhist temple in the world. During this festival, thousands of
pilgrims and monks visit the site to celebrate the birth of Buddha and his
teachings. Because of this, Borobudur inevitably comes with all the tourist
paraphernalia one can expect of such a place.
27
May – Borobudur
Our
day started early, allowing investigating the temple ahead of the hordes and
the heat. Borobudur was an excellent example of Java’s Buddhist heyday. The
complex was constructed in the early part of the 9th century but
later abandoned, most likely due to the decline of Buddhism in the area. During
a volcanic eruption, in 1006, the structures were entirely covered by volcanic
ash. The buildings were rediscovered in 1814 by Raffles, the then governor of
Java. To Buddhists, the temple symbolises awakening and a human’s journey to
enlightenment. The structure sits atop a small hill and overlooks the
surrounding valleys and mountains. From there, one could see the two nearby
volcanoes, Sumbing and Gunung Merapi, which appeared in a near state of
eruption complete with smoke spewing from the top. At the time, I thought they better
behave until we were out of there. A few months later, repeated outbursts of
lava and ashes caused numerous pyroclastic flows down the densely populated
slopes of Merapi. Over 350,000 people were evacuated from their homes.
Soon,
hordes of giggling school kids arrived (“small students”, as the gatekeeper
referred to them), inviting us to pose with them. They asked for our autographs
on books which they brought with them, especially for such a purpose. We did
the best we could, but there were too many of them. The heat and school kids’
arrival indicated time to retreat to our digs and enjoy a lazy afternoon.
28
May - Borobudur to Prambanan (via Yogyakarta) – 71 km
The
Mendut Temple, where more Buddhist celebrations were underway, came shortly
after departing Borobudur. Police blocked the streets around the temple but
allowed bicycles, enabling us to see the chanting monks.
A
good descent led into Yogyakarta city, and I knew why I felt stuck on the tarmac
en route to Borobudur. Once in Yogyakarta, there was no available space, and every
nook and cranny was chock-a-block full due to the celebrations. With the lack
of space, we headed toward Solo, our next destination. Within roughly an hour,
the famous temples of Prambanan appeared. A basic hotel near the temples made exploring
the grounds easy in the morning. Prambanan was a Hindu temple complex (as opposed
to a Buddhist); hence, accommodation was readily available.
29-30
May - Prambanan – Solo – 51 km
I
set off to investigate the Prambanan temples in the morning – reputedly the
largest and most beautiful Hindu temples in Java, built in the 9th century and
mysteriously abandoned shortly following completion. While severely damaged by
the 2006 earthquake, they were still awe-inspiring. Sadly Ernest wasn’t
interested in looking at temples, and I found it difficult to take my time
enjoying these ruins, knowing my cycling partner was tapping his feet in the
room.
From
Prambanan, a reasonably smooth ride led into Solo, a highly conservative city. Solo
couldn’t have been all traditional as Ernest managed to find beer as well as
ham. The conservative Muslims probably considered him on the highway to hell.
One
more day was spent in Solo. I would have preferred spending the day at the
temples instead of Solo where food was challenging to find. Most dishes came
with meat or eggs and eventually, I ordered a spring roll at the hostel where
we stayed. Still, the language barrier remained a problem, and I was served an
omelette with a vegetable filling. Ernest had no problem eating the order, and
taking he’d already eaten two breakfast omelettes; I’m sure he’d enough eggs to
last the remainder of the trip.
31
May - Solo – Caruban – 119 km
At
breakfast, Ernest devoured two more omelettes. Afterwards, we pointed our bikes
in the direction of Surabaya. The road was smooth and flat, meaning buses and
trucks were going ten to a dozen, and care had to be taken not to become roadkill.
At
last, the route led away from the built-up areas and through farmlands, a
welcome change. Cassava, rice and sugarcane grew in large quantities. All kinds
of things were sold alongside the road, including baby monkeys, fancy chickens
and colourful songbirds in cages.
I
came extremely close to being killed as a snake that had been run over was
striking out wildly. I didn’t spot it until the last moment and instinctively swerved
out. In the process, I was nearly run over by a truck; mercifully, the driver
managed to avoid me, if only by mere centimetres. I was extremely thankful for
the quick reaction of the skilful truck driver.
Otherwise,
the ride was good, and we reached the small town of Caruban shortly past 5 o’clock,
where finding a bed, food, and beer came easily.
1-2
June - Caruban – Surabaya – 159 km
We
got underway reasonably early, and good time was made until reaching the
outskirts of Surabaya. Nevertheless, reaching Surabaya, the traffic became
horrendous. The last 15 kilometres into town took considerably longer than I
wanted to spend dodging traffic, especially following such a long day on the bike.
By the time a suitable place to bed down was located, it had been dark sometime
already.
In
the morning, inquiries were made regarding a boat to Kalimantan, the Indonesian
part of Borneo. Unfortunately, the first shipping company didn’t allow bicycles
on board. After schlepping to another, I was informed that the ticket office
was elsewhere and decided to leave the inquiries for the following morning.
By
evening a massive explosion rocked our street, scattering building rubble and
broken glass everywhere. The power was cut instantly, and general pandemonium
prevailed with people running and sirens wailing. Within seconds, a strong
military presence made one surmise the explosion could be something more
sinister than an accident. We later read the blast was due to an accident in a
gas-storage warehouse, leaving three people dead.
3 June – Surabaya, Java – Banjarmasin, Kalimantan, Borneo - By ship
In
the morning, we biked to the harbour, where the security guard at the gate went
to the shipping office by motorbike to buy our tickets. Not feeling well, and with
boarding time being a great deal later, I parked myself under the nearest tree
while Ernest went back to town searching for an Internet cafe and snacks.
Judging
by the ticket price I didn’t expect a cruise liner. I was suffering from severe
diarrhoea and wasn’t looking forward to spending a long time on a crowded boat
without toilet facilities. The ticket included six meal vouchers making me
think they expected the journey significantly longer than the predicted 20 to
24 hours. The vessel was a large car ferry; and one could cycle on board and
store the bikes below deck with the trucks, cars and motorbikes at a small
additional fee.
The
boat departed at 20h00 instead of 17h00 which made me wonder if one would indeed
need all those meal vouchers. Once on board, the accommodating crew gave the
option to upgrade to a private cabin at a small fee. Considered a bargain I dug
into my wallet and handed over the cash. Meals were even served in the cabin
while the rest of the people had to stand in queues.
